


Disconnect

by DeadPatrol



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom, Half-Life VR but the AI are Self Aware
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Dealing with Trauma Poorly, Derealization, Emotional Repression, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Me? Projecting onto fictional characters? Never., Mention of canon-typical violence, Overstimulation, Panic Attacks, Touch-Starved, Trans Gordon Freeman, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, by ignoring it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadPatrol/pseuds/DeadPatrol
Summary: Gordon needs a hug. Turns out, Benrey gives good hugs.
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 95
Kudos: 545





	Disconnect

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all ever think about the fact that Gordon was literally trapped inside the HEV suit and couldn't take it off? Because I think about it a lot.
> 
> So basically this is my Not A Videogame AU where all of Gordon's cannon comments about "being inside a simulation" are because he's derealizing like a motherfucker.

Gordon scratches at the bathroom floor with the tip of his finger. The glove of the HEV suit makes his fingers bulky and stiff, but the gap between tiles is just big enough that he can scrape up all the dust and gunk that’s collected in the crevice. It makes a nice sound when the orange metal that plates the back of his knuckles scrapes against the edge of the porcelain. Gordon listens to the sound, and very carefully doesn’t think about anything else.

The team found a functional bathroom free of alien infestation and decided to rest here for the night. Or, whatever passes for night down here. It’s hard to tell. They’re been underground for what feels like forever. It’s been… a while since he’s seen any actual sunlight. Although, being trapped underground is definitely preferable when the other option is being shot at by helicopters.

The bathroom is good. The walls are solid even after the airstrikes, there’s only one entrance, and there’s no sign of alien or military presence. This bathroom is easily the most defensible place they’re come across in days (days? Has it been days? It must have been, but there’s no way for him to tell).

Gordon would like to convince himself that this was a good choice. But that’s not really true, because it wasn’t a choice. He doesn’t really make choices anymore, things just happen whether he wants them to or not. The team would crash in the middle of an open minefield and be just as content. Once they decided, there wouldn’t have been a single thing he could do to make them move. Trying to keep these motherfuckers alive is like herding cats, but all the cats have a death wish, and every few minutes they try to kill him.

Whatever. He’s not thinking about that. He’s not thinking about anything. He’s just sitting here.

The hand drier kicks on again, and the soft roar of it fills the space and collides into every wall in the room. Dr. Coomer is sitting directly underneath the hand drier. He’s got one hand on the button and the other resting on the massive gun laid out next to him. His curly white hair is pressed flat to his head by the blasting stream of hot air and the sleeves of his lab coat flap wildly in the force of it.

When Dr. Coomer notices him looking, he smiles brightly and says, “I’m toasty warm, Gordon!”

Gordon says something that he’s pretty sure is, “That’s great, Dr. Coomer,” but he’s kind of running on auto-pilot at this point, so he’s not really certain.

Hearing their conversation, Tommy perks up from where he’s sitting under the no smoking sign near the trash can. “Once we get through this—through the, uh, through the Lambda Labs, it should only be another—an hour until we reach the teleporter room! Isn’t that wonderful, Mr. Freeman?”

Sure, it is. It’s good that they’re making progress. Gordon thinks he should probably feel something about that, but it just isn’t really coming to him right now. He makes a vaguely affirmative kind of hum and hopes that will be the end of that conversation.

Tommy looks at him strangely and hesitates like he wants to say something, but Bubby says something from over by the sinks and makes this sharp little gesture with his hand like he’s proving a point. Then Dr. Coomer chimes in, and then the mumble of Benrey’s monotone makes itself known, and Gordon just kind of… zones out. The conversation is loud and getting louder as the others get more involved, but it’s all blending together and he can’t really focus on any of it. At least no one’s looking at him anymore.

Gordon can feel the warm wash of dry air against the side of his face, but nowhere else. The HEV suit is insulated, so he can’t really feel any change in temperature. Except—well, except through the minigun. He’s resting the minigun in his lap, and it weighs heavy across his legs, pressing down on them even through the armor of the HEV suit. When the minigun gets cold, he can feel it ache in his bones. When the minigun gets hot, it sears into the raw flesh of his arm.

He goes back to scratching at the floor with his left hand and tries not to think about it.

Air circulates around the room and stirs up the smell of the place. All of the bathrooms in Black Mesa have a very distinct smell. It’s a mix of bleach, groundwater, and faint urine that’s unnamable but recognizable.

The conversation is still going on, but it feels very far away.

Gordon feels like he should say something. It should be so easy to open his mouth and say, “Hey, isn’t it weird that people use bleach to clean toilets and urinals and shit? Shouldn’t we be more worried about accidentally making mustard gas or something?” But the words won’t come, and he’s just so tired. What would be the point anyway? Someone would say, “you don’t clean your bathroom, Gordon?” and someone would say, “haha, Gordon Stinkman,” and then someone would say something else, and nothing would happen. There’s no point to it. There’s no point to any of it.

But he’s not thinking about that.

He’s just staring at the tiles on this floor, and leaning against this wall he can’t feel through the heavy back plating of his HEV suit, and trying to whittle away the seconds until his brain gets the memo that his exhausted body has been trying to send all day, and then he can finally go to sleep. And then in the morning, he can wake up and do it all again.

Even if he does somehow miraculously manage to fall asleep, he’s only going to wake up feeling more exhausted than before. That’s how it’s been every day since the resonance cascade happened and he fucked everything up. Every night has been the same repetition of a few meager hours spent lying on hard tile floors curled up against steel plated walls trapped in the bulk and sharp angles of the HEV suit.

He hasn’t been comfortable in days. Which, he realizes, is such a stupid complaint to have. The world is ending and your co-workers are dying all around you, and you’re complaining about not being comfortable when you sleep. Nice one, Gordon. Way to have some perspective. But no matter how fucking stupid it is, he just really, really wants a blanket, or a pillow, or anything soft. But that’s even more stupid, because even if he had a pillow he couldn’t fucking touch it. He can’t even feel the tile under his fingers because of the goddamn HEV suit that he _can’t take off—_

“Where the fuck is he going?” Gordon hears Bubby say, but it’s quiet and far away.

Gordon notices that he got up at some point. He’s walking out the door now, his body carrying him away from the noise and the light and the people. He leaves the room and stands in the hallway. He’s not doing anything. He’s not even really sure why he came out here. He’s just… standing.

He feels the quiet of the hallway sink in around him. It’s only then that he realizes just how loud the bathroom was. The escalating conversation, the roar of the hand drier, the buzz of the fluorescent lights, all of it echoing off the hard tile walls of the small space and pressing in around him. Crushing his chest. Constricting his throat. Making it hard to breathe. His binder isn’t helping. How long has he been wearing it for? A week now? Fuck, he’s lost track. If he could take it off, he would. But that’s not really a choice now, is it?

Waking up the day before the test and deciding to wear a binder might have been a stupid decision, but if he knew he was going to be trapped inside of a goddamn HEV suit for the rest of his life, he would have done quite a few things differently. For one, quitting his job. But it wouldn’t have made a difference. Somehow, someway, he would have ended up right here in this exact spot anyway. None of it matters.

Fuck. His chest is too tight. He can’t breathe. The part of his mind that’s all animal instinct and raw emotion is screaming. He needs to go. He needs to leave. He’s not safe here. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just needs to move. The logical part of his mind that’s floating detached above it all tells him he’ll feel better after a walk.

So he walks.

Gordon can hear Benrey saying something. He’s sure it’s Benrey because no one else has that distinct lack of tone, but he can’t make out the words. It might be Gordon’s name, or it might not. It doesn’t matter either way. It’s all muffled and distant, coming through the screen that separates him from the rest of the world.

It’s alright. Benrey will be fine. Gordon’s only leaving for a couple of minutes. He’s just going for a walk. If it’s really that important, Benrey can just tell him when he gets back.

The team is fine. They’ll be fine. They’re in the bathroom, the most defensible place they’re found in days. If anything bad happens, they’ll be able to take care of themselves.

Worrying never stopped anything bad from happening, so he’s not going to worry about it. He’s not. He’s not going to worry about it.

It shouldn’t make a difference if Gordon’s there or not. They’re safer without him, really. When he’s alone, his fuck ups can only hurt himself. It’s best to minimize collateral damage as much as possible.

He keeps walking.

He doesn’t know where he’s going. He doesn’t have a particular destination in mind. It doesn’t matter anyway. He’s just going for a walk. He just needs to clear his head until the world feels real again.

Gordon floats down the hallway like a ghost. It feels like his feet shouldn’t touch the floor, like they should hover just above it without ever making contact, or maybe give up the pretense all together, slip right through the floor and fall into the endless dark nothing below.

It’s true that no two things ever really touch. Electrons repel each other, and there will always be a gap between them. At the same time, the Law of Infinite Probability means there’s a chance that all of Gordon’s atoms will line up perfectly with all of the floor’s atoms, and he will phase right through it. He keeps waiting for the moment that the ground disappears beneath his feet, but every step is met with the resounding clang of his HEV suit’s metal boots impacting the hallway’s steel floor.

He runs a hand along the wall, but he can’t feel it through the gloves. He’s pretty sure it’s not really real, anyways. Like, if he tried to touch it with his real human hands— hand, it would just pass right though. His boots clang against the floor and his gloves scrape against the wall, and he’s certain that the HEV suit is the only thing keeping him from passing right through them. He’s seen Benrey do it before, so why not?

The physical exhaustion pulls at his bones and makes all his limbs feel heavy and clumsy. These last few days have been a ceaseless barrage of leaping over pits, crawling through vents, swimming through sewage, climbing ladders, scaling cliffs, and more and more endless trials that just never let up. It would be wearing on him even if he were well rested, and he certainly hasn’t been getting enough of that.

He should be sleeping right now, and not wandering around a facility crawling with hostile aliens and boot boys, like an idiot. But he just can’t bring himself to care. Any emotional energy he had left was drained from him along with the blood that poured from the stump where his hand used to be. You know, when his own team fucking betrayed him.

He’s so, so tired.

He can put up with the team’s constant jokes, and their nonchalance in the face of death, and he can even laugh at their stupid antics, and he can boss them around, even when they won’t listen, especially when they won’t listen, because they never listen when he’s trying too hard to _keep them alive_ , and he can tell them not to drink the green goop every twenty minutes, and he can cover them every time they run headlong into gunfire, or “ropes”, or lasers, and he can have a heart attack every time they jump into a bottomless pit, and he can worry about them every time, even though they always turn out to be just fine, and jeez Gordon stop worrying, and he can try to look away when they kill someone right in front of him, and he can kill people and not think about it because if he does— and he can put up with their betrayal, and he can forgive them, and he can keep going, but only for so long.

He just wants a nap. Or, since his brain has decided that sleep isn’t a thing they can have anymore, a nice quiet corner someplace dark and alone. A little spot where he can sit and stare at a wall in peace until the world starts making sense again. Maybe he can have a blanket. He wouldn't really be able to feel it, but it would still be nice.

He just needs to go for a walk. Just for a little while. To clear his head. That’s all he needs.

A pack of peeper puppies chorus in the distance, each one that joins adding another note of reverb of their echoing call. They’re far enough away that Gordon’s not really concerned. Still, he should probably start walking back. It’s enough to shake him from his trance, and when he glances around at his surroundings, it’s like he’s seeing them for the first time. He’s not really sure where he ended up, but it shouldn’t be too hard to trace his path back.

He turns two corners before he’s utterly lost.

He’s standing at the crossroads of four diverging hallways and he has no idea which one he came from. None of this is familiar to him. So, he takes a guess and starts walking. It doesn’t really matter. Either he finds his way back or he doesn’t. He’s got his minigun (as if he could ever be without it), so it’s not like he’s in much danger.

Everything is muted and distant. He’s aware that he should be panicking, and that he would be panicking under any normal circumstances, but knowing it doesn’t make the fuzzy computer screen that separates him from reality go away. He feels burned out and hollow. All that’s left of Gordon is an empty space where the rage and fear and guilt has torn it’s path and left him behind.

He turns a corner, taking a right on a whim, but the path only leads to a dead end break room. And of course, because he just can’t catch a fucking break today, Benrey is there. He’s sitting perched on top of the counter right next to the microwave. He looks shocked to see Gordon, as if he didn’t follow Gordon all the way out here. There’s literally no other reason Benrey would be here. But then again, nothing makes sense, least of all Benrey.

Gordon knows he should say, “were you following me?” and the muted, distant part of his mind wants him to spit it like an accusation, yell, get mad. He knows he should probably say something. Anything. Instead, he stands just inside the doorway and waits.

He waits for something to explode, or an alien to attack, or someone to die. It’s inevitable. It just keeps happening. There’s nothing he can do to stop it. So he just waits.

He really doesn’t have the energy for this right now. He doesn’t want to have any kind of conversation, but especially not one with Benrey. Even navigating regular conversations is hard enough. The pressure of trying to figure out how people expect him to respond is draining, and he has so little energy left to give. He doesn’t have a fraction of the energy needed to devote to the constant struggle of trying to comprehend what the fuck Benrey wants from him.

There’s a long silence. The silence is nice. The silence is good. The silence means nothing is going wrong. Benrey shifts his weight on the counter uncomfortably, kicking his feet so they tap lightly against the wood paneling of the cupboards beneath. Gordon watches the motion with a vague and disconnected interest. Gordon listens to the hum of the soda vending machine and waits.

Maybe Benrey would sing if Gordon asked him to. That might be nice.

“Uh, what are you doing in here?” Benrey asks.

It takes Gordon a moment to focus on what’s being said. Even after the words resolve into meaning in his mind, he doesn’t answer. He doesn’t feel like responding. The question doesn’t feel particularly important. Benrey will just ignore whatever he says, or maybe use the answer to start an argument with him.

“You kinda fucked up, leaving without telling your pals. We’re best friends, you gotta tell us where you’re going, bro,” Benrey continues, either honestly oblivious to Gordon’s silence or willfully ignoring it. “Hey, why’d you do that? Leaving and stuff?”

Benrey does that a lot. He asks questions even when the answer is obvious, and especially when the answer is something Gordon doesn't want to think about. It’s been days, but Benrey’s quiet “you killed someone?” is still ringing in his ears.

Benrey is watching Gordon with suspicion now. His gaze is sharp and focused, like he’s trying to look right through Gordon’s prickling skin and see what he’s thinking. Ha. Good luck. Gordon’s head is all empty space and floaty nothing at the moment.

Actually, Gordon’s not really sure what Benrey wants. But then, he never is. Benrey is searching his face for… something. He’s intent about it, like there’s something wrong, something missing, and he can’t figure it out.

Gordon meets his eyes, passive. It doesn’t feel like Benrey’s looking at him. It feels like Benrey’s looking at the space where Gordon’s body is, and Gordon is just watching from the sidelines.

And then it hits him. It’s Gordon. Gordon’s missing. Benrey is looking for Gordon.

He feels like he should maybe apologize or something. It seems like he’s kind of freaking Benrey out. But there’s nothing he can do. He’s lost all control.

From far away, Gordon watches Benrey hop down from the counter. Benrey gets up close to Gordon, pressing right into his personal space like he’s never heard of the concept in his life. Gordon keeps forgetting that Benrey is shorter than him until the dude is right next to him and it’s impossible to ignore. Benrey’s piercing gaze never leaves Gordon’s face, staring him down with intent. Gordon’s not really sure what Benrey’s trying to do. Maybe he’s trying to bait Gordon, to annoy him into responding.

Honestly, it might work.

Gordon’s not sure if he wants it to work.

Benrey raises a hand, and Gordon watches as Benrey reaches up and pokes Gordon’s forehead.

Gordon flinches back from the intensity of the feeling.

Even though he watched the whole thing happen, Gordon’s brain lurches like he wasn’t expecting it. Well, he kind of wasn’t. He expected it would feel like nothing, or maybe Benrey’s hand would phase right through him like he wasn’t even there. Gordon’s seen Benrey phase through walls before. Is it really that surprising that Benrey can pass right through the screen and tap Gordon on the other side?

Benrey’s skin is warm and real. Gordon rubs the spot to make the tingling sensation go away. The cold, rough exterior of the HEV gloves scratches against this forehead, and a distant part of him is disappointed and frustrated.

“Answer, please? Thank you,” Benrey says.

It’s enough to make Gordon open his eyes and look at Benrey through the daze. He tries to remember what Benrey even asked him, and when he does, he feels a muted exasperation pushing against his tired mind.

“Why do you even care?” Gordon breathes the words like a sigh. There’s no energy behind it, only a bone deep exhaustion.

“Huh? What?” Benrey startles, his eyes wide.

Oh, right. That’s the first thing Gordon’s said to him.

On instinct, Gordon tries to raise his right hand, but that’s not really a thing anymore. He quickly corrects and holds up his left hand in a ‘stop’ gesture like it will actually give him a break whatever the fuck is going on. “Please don’t fuck with me right now. Just… don’t try to make me mad.”

“Bro, I never try to make you mad,” Benrey insists, and it would almost sound earnest if not for literally every other interaction they’ve had up until this point.

The glare of utter disbelief comes to Gordon without even trying. He wills every ounce of energy he has left into his tone, forcing it into something sharp and deadly serious when he says, “Stop.”

Benrey squirms, his eyes suddenly looking everywhere but Gordon’s face. “How else am I supposed to get you to pay attention to me, man? You’re always so—you’re always going—muh, muh, we have to keep moving, don’t kill that guy, don't drink that, buh, buh, buh.”

Gordon can see the moment that Benrey realizes what he just said. A number of emotions pass over Benrey’s face in quick succession before it settles on an expression that screams ‘nervous and hiding it poorly’.

Gordon narrows his eyes. If all of this was because Benrey wanted his attention, he… he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Maybe he’ll just fucking lose it and have a breakdown right here in the break room. Actually, that’s exactly what he would do. With that in mind, he makes the decision to emphatically ignore it. He hardly has the energy for this conversation, so starting an argument definitely isn’t worth it right now.

Gordon heaves a sigh and it comes out shaky. He runs a hand through his hair, trying to find whatever semblance of calm and collected he ostensibly once had. His long hair catches on the seams between the metal plates of his glove and pulls uncomfortably, causing dull sparks of pain that he doesn’t really feel.

“Hey, why are you, uh, you’re all tense? Calm down.” Benrey’s face goes from nervous to something like concern. His lip dips down slightly at the corner and there’s a tiny crease where his eyebrows come together. His face conveys all the emotion that his constant monotone doesn’t. It’s revealing to see it happen up close. This isn’t the first time Benrey’s been close, the man acts like he has a vendetta against the concept of personal space. However, this is the first time Gordon hasn’t immediately pushed him away.

Distracted as he is, it takes Gordon a second to process Benrey’s actual words. “Huh? Yeah. No, yeah. I’m calm. I went for a walk, needed to clear my head. I’m good now.”

It’s not really a lie. Gordon is feeling a lot calmer now that he’s had some space and quiet, even if Benrey is serving to quickly undo all of that.

The look Benrey gives him is skeptical. Gordon watches the tiny quirk of his eyebrows and considers getting mad. The muscle memory of stubborn rage and insistence wants to rear its head, but there’s nothing there. There’s just the quiet calls of the peeper puppies in the distance, the buzz of the soda machine, and the screen that separates Gordon and Benrey from the rest of the world.

Still, Gordon’s stubborn streak eggs him on. He raises an eyebrow right back at Benrey. They’re still standing close enough that Gordon’s hand bumps clumsily against Benrey’s chest when he gestures at himself and says, “Look at me, I’m calm. I am the picture of calm.”

“Then, uh, why are you shaking?” Benrey says, smug, like he’s made some great point.

Gordon rolls his eyes, but the automatic denial dies on his tongue. After a pause, he loosens the line of tension that was pulling his shoulders taught. They ache with the release of built up tension. He didn’t realize he was doing that. Actually, his whole body kind of aches, now that he’s paying attention to it. He looks at his hand, and sure enough, there’s a small tremor running down his arm and vibrating in his fingers. He focuses on his hand and tries to stop, but that only seems to make it worse.

“Oh, huh. Okay. Weird. But I’m calm. That’s not—that’s just because I’m tired.” Somehow, Benrey manages to look even less convinced than before, so Gordon keeps going. “I’m fine. I haven’t… slept? In a while? And it’s fucking with me. But I’m good. I can’t really do anything about it, so it doesn’t matter.”

Benrey’s face does something weird. Mostly, he just looks confused and annoyed. Benrey opens his mouth to speak, and from this close up Gordon notices that he’s got maybe too many teeth that are all just a little bit too sharp. Gordon’s pretty sure Benrey’s talking to him, but his brain has decided to zone out and stop listening, too busy fixating on just how close Benrey is standing.

Would it be weird if Gordon asked Benrey to touch his face again? Probably. Definitely. He doesn’t mean it in a weird way. It’s just that his head is the only part of him that isn’t trapped inside the HEV suit, and any kind of contact sounds like a fucking blessing right now. It’s weird. It’s definitely weird. Would Benrey do it anyway? Who fucking knows. Gordon doesn’t understand him at all. Maybe a hug, instead. Is that less weird? He wouldn’t be able to feel it, but the idea of it sounds nice.

Gordon blinks as he realizes that Benrey is waving a hand in front of his face. He would have startled if he had anything left but a distant floaty feeling and the shaking that won’t leave his hands. Hand.

Benrey leans in. Gordon can hear the soft monotone of his voice, and he’s pretty sure Benrey’s asking him a question, but he can’t focus on any of it.

Benrey’s really close now. He’s close enough that they’re practically touching. Close enough that Gordon could maybe just reach out and pull Benrey into a hug.

Well, nothing matters anyway, and Gordon wants a hug. So it’s with a resounding sense of fuck it that Gordon does just that. He reaches out with his left arm, and he can see Benrey’s eyes track the movement questioningly before Gordon loops it around the shorter man’s shoulders and pulls him in.

A high-pitched burst of Sweet Voice warbles next to Gordon’s ear. The single note is cut off sharply when Benrey abruptly freezes up against Gordon’s chest. He doesn’t move at all. He doesn’t even breathe, but Gordon’s pretty sure that whatever species Benrey is doesn’t need to breathe anyway.

“Uh,” Benrey starts, but anything else is lost in the melodic rush of Sweet Voice that escapes his lips.

Gordon knows a few of the simple translations thanks to Tommy’s rhyming mnemonics, but he can’t even begin to decipher the mess of colors that spill from Benrey in a melodious cascade. Still, it doesn’t take a genius to read the baffled question on Benrey’s face.

Gordon avoids Benrey’s eyes and mumbles, “Just let me have this, for like, two minutes. Alright? Cool?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah. Cool,” Benrey agrees very quickly through a mouthful of yellow Sweet Voice.

Gordon feels some of the rigidity in his muscles loosen when it becomes clear that Benrey really isn’t going to question this or start an argument about it. Then again, if he really was doing all of that just to get Gordon’s attention, then there wouldn’t be a reason to, because this is exactly what he—

He’ll think about that later. Never, maybe. Right now, he’s just going to try to enjoy this.

The glowing bubbles of Sweet Voice drift around the room. Gordon doesn’t recognize what any of it means, but the colors are beautiful. It’s mesmerizing to watch the way they float gently, casting everything in their soft, colorful light. He wonders if they feel like anything. He’s felt them crash into his face before, but he’s never held one.

A green bubble drifts by them, and Gordon considers reaching out to grab it. That would mean letting go of Benrey, so he decides against it. It’s not like there would be a point to it, anyway. He still can’t feel anything through the HEV gloves.

The hug is nice, but it feels more like the idea of a hug than an actual hug. There’s no warmth through the HEV suit. He can press his hand into Benrey’s back, but he can’t feel the texture of his security vest. There’s no softness, or contact, or feeling at all. But, he can feel the pressure of Benrey’s presence in his arm and against his chest, and he’ll take what he can get.

Gordon leans in just a bit and rests his forehead against the smooth surface of Benrey’s helmet. He jerks back when Benrey jolts underneath him.

Maybe that was too far. Maybe Benrey finally came to his senses about how weird this is and realized he doesn’t have to put up with Gordon’s breakdown-hug. Fuck, he shouldn’t have done that.

Benrey wiggles and Gordon loosens his grip, ready to step away and back off. Benrey brings up a hand, and Gordon’s ready to be shoved away. To his surprise, Benrey’s hand goes up to his own helmet.

Benrey scrambles to take the helmet off, fumbling and knocking it off his head in his haste. It hits the floor with a thunk and rolls away. Benrey doesn’t seem to notice or care, he just buries his face in Gordon’s shoulder. That can’t be comfortable. He’s practically squishing his face against the armored plates of the HEV suit, but he seems utterly unbothered.

Gordon is struck by the realization that he’s never actually seen Benrey without his helmet before. He had no idea that Benrey’s hair was deep pitch black. Just seeing his hair feels weird and vulnerable. Benrey is trusting that Gordon will not make good on all his threats to shoot Benrey in the head with the massive minigun he has permanently attached to his right arm.

Gordon can feel strands of Benrey’s hair tickling his neck every time Benrey shifts or breathes. Gordon stands very still, hyper aware of his left arm around Benrey’s back and the way his weaponized right arm hangs awkwardly from his side. He’s not really sure what to do.

“Again? Please? Thank you.” Benrey doesn’t lift his head, and his words come out muffled against the HEV suit.

Well. Gordon’s not going to argue. He hesitates only for a moment before he cautiously leans into Benrey and rests his cheek against the top of Benrey’s head. He can feel the pitch black hair under his cheek. It’s soft and warm and smells like TV static.

It’s… really nice. He feels like he might be able to fall asleep like this. The floaty, distant feeling of unrealness is slowly fading into a drowsy exhaustion. He becomes aware of the ache in his shoulders and the way that his arms tremble as grounding touch settles him back into his own body. Gordon doesn’t want to move ever again, except maybe to sit down.

Feeling sleepy and muddled, Gordon wraps his other arm around Benrey without really thinking about it. Gordon is snapped very suddenly into full awareness when his stupid goddamn minigun arm clunks against the back of Benrey’s helmetless head.

Gordon grits his teeth. Fuck. Shit. Of course, you stupid fucking idiot. You can’t do anything right. You deserve to feel like this, and—

“Sorry,” Benrey says, nonsensically.

It takes Gordon a minute to decipher the word between Benrey mumbling it into his shoulder, the sleepy fog in his brain, and the loathing.

“What?” Gordon manages to fumble out. “I’m the one who hit you.”

“No, uh, about the, uh, arm,” Benrey says, still not looking at Gordon. “Didn’t really mean—didn’t realize they were gonna—uh. Thought you’d maybe… grow it back.”

“Oh.” Gordon pauses, his brain scrambling to keep up and figure out how to respond to that. Gordon is very suddenly reminded that Benrey may legitimately not understand human physiology. “It’s… Fine. I mean, it’s not fine. But it’s whatever. We’re cool. Apology accepted.”

Benrey wraps both arms around Gordon and quietly says, “Cool.”

Benrey seems like he’s enjoying this. Gordon doesn’t really understand why, since he’s essentially hugging a mass of solid metal and sharp angles. He hasn’t moved, still squishing his face into the angle where the shoulder plate meets the collar. He’s got both his arms wrapped around Gordon, absolutely soaking it up, but he only knows that because he can see it. He can’t really feel any of it. He can feel the pressure of Benrey’s weight when he leans into him, but not much else.

Gordon focuses on the soft fuzz of Benrey’s hair against his cheek and tries to be grateful. There’s no point in lingering on the thought of how nice it would be to feel the warmth of Benrey in the crook of his neck and against his chest. There’s nothing he can do about it while he’s trapped in the fucking HEV suit.

He realizes he might have mumbled some of that out loud. Whatever. He’s so tired. He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter, because why would it? Nothing makes sense, all rules and logic were thrown out the window a long time ago. He’s just so tired.

Then Gordon feels hands against his back. His real, actual back.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he realizes, duh, Benrey can phase through walls. What would stop him from phasing through the HEV suit?

Any coherent thought he might have had after that is lost to the way that his brain goes fuzzy when Benrey’s fingers spread warm patterns of pressure against his skin. Holy shit. He can actually feel Benrey’s hands against his back. He can trace the pressure of Benrey’s arms around his sides, and he can feel the movement of it when Benrey shifts, pressing against his back and pulling himself in towards Gordon. Gordon watches with muted awe as Benrey sinks into the HEV suit, clipping through steel plates like they’re not even there. He sinks in until he’s halfway submerged in the metal.

There’s a warm puff of breath against his collar just before Benrey’s forehead bumps solidly against his shoulder. He jolts at the searing point of contact, still in disbelief that any of this is really happening. But he can feel it. He can feel Benrey tilt his head and nuzzle into the junction between Gordon’s neck and shoulder.

A shudder wracks its way down his spine. Electric sparks prickle against his skin at every point of contact. His focus shifts rapidly every time Benrey moves or breathes against him and his nerves light up. He can’t focus on all of it. It’s overwhelming. His whole body is trembling, and he can’t stop shaking.

He can’t breathe, but he’s super okay with that. He’s perfectly willing to suffocate right now if it means he doesn’t ever have to let go of this. He forces himself to let go of the breath he’s been holding. It catches in his throat before coming out shaky.

Heat prickles unbidden behind his eyes. He blinks rapidly and tries really hard not to cry.

Benrey shifts and Gordon can feel the whole movement against his chest. Benrey rests his chin on Gordon’s collarbone and lifts his head just enough to look up at him. Benrey’s face is still mostly submerged, only his eyes visible above the metal plane of the HEV suit. Gordon thinks, a little bit hysterically, that he looks like a shark peering up above a waterline.

Gordon spares a distant thought for the hope that his near-breakdown isn’t obvious. He really doesn’t want to broadcast the fact that he’s about to cry over a fucking hug.

Benrey hesitates before he speaks. His tone is low and quiet, like he’s afraid of treading wrong and breaking the fragile stillness of the moment. “I can, uh, phase you out? If you want?”

“You can do that?” Gordon tries to hold it together, but his voice comes out in an astonished whisper.

Without another word, Benrey tightens his hold around Gordon and pulls. Startled, Gordon instinctively staggers as he tries to stop himself from falling forward and regain his balance. Crushing Benrey under the weight of the HEV suit is a really shitty way to repay the dude for a hug. But, rather than moving with the HEV suit, Gordon moves _through_ the HEV suit. His skin buzzes as he passes through layers of padding, insulation, electronics, and solid steel.

In slow motion, Gordon watches Benrey’s eyes widen and hears his muttered, “Shit.”

The next thing he knows, Gordon is crashing into him as they hit the break room floor.

Underneath Gordon, Benrey groans dramatically, flopped ragdoll loose on the ground. The groan transitions into a few dark blue bubbles of Sweet Voice that drift off into the air and light up the room. Benrey uses one hand to push himself into sitting upright, but the other stays curled around Gordon, never letting go of the tight grip he has on Gordon’s undershirt.

Gordon is frozen, too stunned to do anything as his brain scrambles to reboot.

Benrey puts his other hand on Gordon’s shoulder and squeezes gently. “Are you… uh, you good?”

The floor is cold and solid.

He can feel it.

“Fuck.” Gordon’s voice cracks over the word and—oh, he’s crying.

Yeah, he’s definitely crying now. Fuck. He hates crying. Crying is stupid and useless and doesn’t fix anything. But he can’t stop now that he’s started, so he might as fucking well. It doesn’t matter, anyway. Nothing matters except for the feeling of the cold tile floor beneath his hand and Benrey’s warm hands against his back and shoulder.

“Oh, uh, shit. Sorry,” Benrey says, but he still hasn’t let go of Gordon. His monotone is tinged with worry and uncertainty, like he’s not quite sure what he did wrong but he scrambles to fix it. “Hug? Hug make it better? Little kiss?”

Gordon can’t help it, he bursts out laughing. Warm tears run down his cheeks and drip onto Benrey’s shirt in between hysterical giggles. His chest heaves with uncontrollable laughter and every breath in rings with a wavering sob. He’s getting light headed from lack of oxygen, but he’s never been happier.

He catches his breath in a wet gasp and manages to choke out, “D-on’t ap-apologize. You’re—you’re f-ine! A-actually, you’re fu-fucking amazing, man. Fuck—”

Gordon hides his face in Benrey’s shirt and tries to calm down. Deep breaths, Gordon. Deep breaths.

Benrey unclenches his hand from the fabric of Gordon’s undershirt, but he doesn’t move it away. He just starts rubbing little circles into Gordon’s back. The gentle weight of Benrey’s arm across his back is soothing and grounding. Every few seconds, a soft sniffle will break up the quiet flow of his deep breathing. Whenever that happens, Benrey responds by singing a couple notes of Sweet Voice that float gently around the room.

Gordon should say something, but his brain is a void of emotional exhaustion and drowsy fatigue. Nothing he could possibly say would ever be enough.

He lifts his head enough to lock eyes with Benrey, and he tries to pour every ounce of feeling into conveying just how much he really, truly means it when he says, “Thank you.”

Benrey’s face flushes in an instant. He opens his mouth to speak a couple of times, but only pale pink Sweet Voice pours out.

He clears his throat, and on the third attempt he manages to say, “Didn’t realize it was bothering you. Would have, uh, done it sooner, if I’d known.”

Gordon’s weary muscles make a valiant attempt at freezing up with the little strength he has left. He very carefully doesn’t turn to look at the HEV suit. Fuck, he almost forgot about it. The thing is off, for now. But he’ll have to put it back on eventually.

“Hey, hey. Stop that, that’s not allowed,” Benrey orders, poking at the tense line of Gordon’s shoulders. “Why did you do this?”

Gordon doesn’t get a chance to figure out how to respond to that before Benrey’s eyes catch on the bright orange monstrosity. From this close, Gordon can see the way they flicker and dilate in a way that’s just a little too strange to be human.

Something must show on Gordon’s face, because when Benrey’s eyes focus back on him, he says, “You, uh, you don’t gotta go back if you won’t want to.”

Gordon chuckles weakly, but there’s no real humor in it. “I kinda do, or else I’m gonna get shot and die.”

“Wha? No,” Benrey says, looking mildly alarmed. He quickly points out, “Tommy’s fine, no plot armor needed.”

Gordon snorts. “Tommy’s half… alien? I think? I’m not actually sure about that, but he’s definitely not human.”

“Bubby—” Benrey starts, but Gordon cuts him off immediately.

“Bubby is literally the ultimate life form. Do not try to convince me I can survive being shot because Bubby can do it.” Gordon’s too tired to really argue, and he can feel the playful smile pulling at his lips as their banter picks up. “And don’t even try Dr. Coomer. The man is more cyborg than person. I’m just a plain squishy human.”

“Then just don’t get shot,” Benrey says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world.

“Oh yeah?” Gordon sarcastically arches an eyebrow. “And how exactly do I do that?”

“Just, uh, I’ll just stand in front of you.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Gordon wheezes through an incredulous laugh.

“Yeah, absorb all the bullets real good,” Benrey says with a straight face. It’s hard to tell if he’s joking or not.

“Benrey,” Gordon barks out a startled laugh that goes fond around the edges.

Benrey’s eyes glaze over a bit, looking dazed to match the flush in his cheeks. It takes him a second to mutter a distracted “…Huh?”

Gordon chuckles as he lowers his head to rest on Benrey’s chest. His neck aches from the tension, and releasing it to relax for a moment feels like bliss. He tilts his head so he can still meet Benrey’s eyes when he says, “Yeah, sure, alright. I’m too tired for this.”

Gordon shifts, making himself comfortable. He carefully maneuvers the minigun arm so that it won't hurt Benrey if it goes off accidentally. He woke himself up last night to the sound of gunfire against a concrete wall, and he spent the rest of the morning in chilling dread of ever unconsciously hurting someone like that.

Gordon is distracted from those dark thoughts when Benrey curls around him, wrapping both arms around Gordon. “Cuddle time? Hell yes.”

Gordon snuggles into Benrey’s hold, soaking up all the satisfying warmth of the hug. His left arm reaches around, caressing a trail around Benrey’s side until he wraps it around Benrey’s waist. Seeking more contact, he tips his head forward until his face presses against Benrey’s neck.

Benrey’s hand comes up and hesitates only for a second before gingerly landing in Gordon’s hair. He waits like he’s expecting Gordon to get irritated, but Gordon only relaxes further into Benrey. Benrey carefully strokes Gordon’s hair, running his fingers through it. After a moment, he feels bold enough to gently scratch at Gordon’s scalp. Benrey’s fingernails are more like claws, but he uses them lightly in a way that sends delicate little shivers down Gordon’s spine.

It’s then that Gordon realizes this is the most relaxed he’s been in weeks. Months, maybe. Actually, when was the last time he felt like this? He decides not to think about it. None of it matters right now. He’s so tired, he’s practically falling asleep on Benrey’s chest.

Gordon opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by a yawn. On the second try, he murmurs, “Would you do the thing? The Sweet Voice thing?”

Benrey obliges. He sings a tune Gordon doesn’t recognize. The colors fade in and out, from pale lilac to a vibrant yellow, then down into a deep emerald green. They drift around the room, occasionally bumping into each other or passing through each other without a discernable pattern.

Gordon watches the bubbles of light until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore. He closes his eyes and soaks in the gentle way that Benrey’s chest rises and falls with each breath, rumbling on the hum of every low note. While Benrey is petting Gordon’s head softly, his other hand moves to trace gentle lines up and down the ribs on his side.

Before he knows it, Gordon falls asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment, I consume them for sustenance! :)
> 
> EDIT: [frostios drew art](https://frostios.tumblr.com/post/636286407815659520/hold-me-close-make-me-feel-like-im-real-based) inspired by this fic!!!


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